


after the storm

by willowharmony13



Series: heroes and songs [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-10 02:05:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18650704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowharmony13/pseuds/willowharmony13
Summary: and after the stormI run and run as the rains comeand I look upI look upon my knees and out of luckI look upThe Battle of Winterfell is over. The new day is just beginning.





	1. night has always pushed up day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle was finally over. Dawn was finally breaking. They had won.
> 
> They had won?

Ice cold air flooded back into her lungs, and the handprint on her throat burned like fire. For the first time in hours, the world around her was quiet, and every muscle and bone, her head, even her breath ached with the weight of the battle she’d fought.

The battle she’d  _ won. _

She had looked Death in his ice blue eyes and had told him  _ not today. _ She had killed the unkillable, the thing that raised the dead.

Rising to her feet, she saw Bran smiling at her, and she smirked and gave him her best curtsy, just like she had whenever she outshot him when they were small.

“I told you that knife was wasted on me,” he stated. In another life, he might have been teasing her, but there was still something hollow in his voice. Still, there was a hint of  _ Bran-ness _ to the words. If she could kill Death, maybe her little brother would someday be a person again. Neither of them would be No One.

“Good thing one of us knew how to use it.” Her voice came out as a rasp, the words feeling like they were cutting her throat from the inside. Gingerly, she laid a hand on her neck, and wound up wincing and coughing.

From outside the godswood, she could hear the survivors of the battle, sound coming back after the shock of victory wore off. There were cries of joy, screams of pain and grief, and loved ones calling each other’s names. It was then that she heard her own.

“ARYA! BRAN! SANSA!” Jon’s voice rang through the crowd, growing louder as he surged towards the godswood. Arya realized he was probably on his way when she’d killed the Night King.

_ She’d killed the Night King. _

“ARYA! BRAN-” Jon’s voice was closer than ever, and she turned to face him, her Valyrian steel dagger still clutched in her fist.

Her brother stood at the entrance of the godswood, staring at his two younger siblings in shock before running to them. He grabbed Arya and spun her around, then ruffled Bran’s hair before embracing him as best he could around the chair. Bran looked somewhat bemused by the whole affair.

Jon pulled back, a hand on each sibling’s shoulder. “How did we win? What happened?” He looked around, searching for someone. “Where’s-”

“Theon Greyjoy was killed by the Night King while protecting me.” Bran answered the question before it could be asked.

“Then, did he-”

“No,” Bran cut Jon off again. “ _ She _ did.”

Both brothers turned to look at Arya, and Jon had a look of sheer wonder in his eyes.

Arya lifted up her dagger to show Jon. “I stuck him with the pointy end,” she managed in a hoarse whisper.

Suddenly laughter filled the godswood, and for a second Arya was a child again, in a Winterfell not surrounded by fire and blood, and if she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine the laughter was her father’s. Jon sounded just like him sometimes.

“I always knew you’d be a warrior,” he told her softly, the laughter fading. “Father would be proud.”

And then she was crying like that little girl from so long ago. Her face was coated in blood and her throat was raw and her head throbbed and every muscle in her body ached and she was just  _ so tired _ .

Jon wrapped her in his arms again and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “It’s alright now, Arya,” he whispered. “We won. You saved us all.” 

He pulled back and gave her a more critical look, taking in the gash on her forehead and the handprint on her throat. “Now let’s get you to a maester.” He turned to Bran, who was still seated serenely by the weirwood tree, his hair still a mess from Jon’s ruffling. “And let’s get you inside, out of the cold.”

“That’s alright,” Bran replied. “I got to see the sun rise.”

Jon and Arya looked up, and sure enough, dawn had broken. The night had ended.

Suddenly, worry took over Jon again. “Wait, Sansa-“

“She’s in the crypt,” Arya answered. “I gave her one of my dragonglass daggers.”

“But the Night King started raising  _ our _ dead, the crypt-“

“She’s fine,” Bran cut Jon off. “The dead fell just as she was about to fight them to protect the children down there.”

_ Sansa was about to fight? _ Arya could hardly believe it. Maybe the world really  _ had _ ended.

The three of them began to make their way out of the godswood, Jon pushing Bran and Arya limping alongside after she threatened to stab Jon too after he suggested she should sit on top of Bran and so he could push both of them at once.

Stepping out into the courtyard, Arya finally took in just how  _ many _ corpses were strewn about. She found herself searching their faces, hoping against hope she wouldn’t see anyone familiar among them.

Hoping she wouldn’t see  _ him _ among them.

She did see little Lyanna Mormont beside the corpse of a giant. Arya had barely known the girl, but in her she’d seen a younger version of herself, or what she’d wished she could’ve been at that age. For one so small and so strong to die so young- Death was familiar to Arya, but not painless.

“She died slaying that giant.” Arya turned and saw the red-haired wildling, Tormund. Jon spoke kindly of him. 

“She was stronger than any of us. A Bear through and through. Her mother Maege would be proud.” Arya hadn’t known the elder Lady of Bear Island, but she’d heard stories of how she fought beside Robb.

“What did you say her mother’s name was?” Tormund sounded shocked, but Arya had no idea why.

“Maege Mormont, of Bear Island,” she answered.

“Maege the She-Bear.” Tormund whispered. “She was a fucking Mormont, I should’ve known. And the girl-“ he looked down at Lyanna’s still form. “How old was she?”

“Lady Lyanna was three-and-ten, if I recall correctly.” Arya had no idea what in seven hells was going on here.

“That means, that means…” Tormund turned to Jon. “Remember how I told you about the time I fucked a bear?”

“What the fu-“ Arya began, but Tormund continued.

“That was her mother. Maege the She-Bear. And her age-“ his voice broke.

“No one ever knew who fathered Maege’s daughters,” Jon said carefully. “She never said. Only insisted they weren’t bastards. They were Mormonts, same as her, same as her father before her.”

“I took her the way of the free folk. She was my wife, according to our ways. She’d disappear, but she’d come back. Then she stopped coming back. Her girls- they were mine, then.” He looked down at Lyanna, tears filling his blue eyes. “My daughter, the giant-slayer. I should have known. I should have known.”

He fell to his knees beside his newly-found and newly-lost child, and he wept. She and Jon exchanged a look, unsure what to do.

“My daughter died in my arms.” Arya and Jon looked to see Jaime Lannister standing behind Tormund, his remaining hand hovering above the wildling’s shoulder.

“Most of her life, she didn’t know I was her father, and I couldn’t tell her,” Jaime continued, either unaware or uncaring of the trio of Starks that were staring at him. “But just before she died, she told me she knew I was her father, and that she loved me.” His eyes were closed, and now both men were weeping. Finally, Jaime laid his hand on Tormund’s shoulder. “It doesn’t get easier. It just gets further away.”

Finally, Jaime looked up at the Starks, but he simply nodded to Jon, as if to tell him he’d handle this, that they could go, that he would take care of his fellow warrior.

As the trio began walking away, Arya once more heard her name through the wails of the wounded.

“ARYA! ARYA, WHERE ARE YOU? ARYA!”

She whirled around, and there he was, not halfway across the courtyard from her, alive and only slightly bloody and looking at his surroundings like he was ready to dig through each pile of corpses to find her, if he had to.

“GENDRY!” She shouted, not caring about her damned throat, and suddenly she was racing across the courtyard to him, injuries be damned.

He turned to her voice, and made it all of three steps towards her before she reached him and threw her arms around his neck, and after taking a second to catch his balance, he threw his arms around her waist and lifted her in the air.

“You’re alive, you’re alive,” he muttered to himself.

“I’m pretty hard to kill,” she retorted. 

She wrapped her legs around his waist and leaned back to look in his eyes. Blue eyes. Not the ice cold blue of the dead, but the warm blue of the summer sky. Gently, she cupped his face in her hands, and kissed him then and there, and he kissed her back, neither of them caring where they were or what was happening around them. They had fought so hard to survive, and now they’d live.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Literally my heart was POUNDING through that entire episode, I was so anxious! I'm so sad that Lyanna died, and I honestly believe the theory about Maege Mormont being the "bear" Tormund fucked, so... I had to write that scene. It broke my heart to do it, but I had to.  
> Also, ending the first chapter with Jon ruining Arya and Gendry's moment is the most hilarious thing I could think to do after all that death. I'm also halfway done with the next chapter, so that should be up tonight or tomorrow!  
> UPDATE: So as I was writing the next chapter, I ended up referencing an exchange from my last gendrya fic, so I decided to make this the second part of a series. I'll probably end up diverging from canon because I'm not a greenseer or anything, but I'm having fun with this.


	2. and I took you by the hand and we stood tall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot of questions, a lot of stories, and a lot of forgetting that courtyards aren't the best place for private conversations.

Jon’s voice pierced through their haze, and Arya and Gendry broke apart, Gendry practically dropping her in his haste. He tried to move away from Arya as her brother approached, but she grabbed his hand and held firm, standing her ground, readying herself for the next fight.

“What the- how the- when the- what the fuck?!” Jon spluttered once he was face-to-face with his little sister again.

She simply raised an eyebrow in response.

Jon turned to Gendry. “Since when do you know my little sister?”

“I- we met when we were children, fleeing King’s Landing. A man from the Night’s Watch was taking us north. She was disguised as a boy, but I wasn’t fooled for a second-“

“What?!”

“Gendry figured out I was a girl, and I told him who I was.” Arya stepped in. “We were both running from the Gold Cloaks, and we protected each other. It’s quite a long story.”

Jon turned back to Gendry. “You told me who your father was straight away when we met. Why didn’t you tell me you knew my sister?”

“I thought she was dead,” Gendry said quietly. “Last I knew, the Hound had taken her to the Twins, and then the wedding…” he trailed off, and Arya squeezed his hand.

“What in seven hells have you done now, lad?” The three of them turned to see Ser Davos standing behind them, his arms crossed, staring at Gendry with exasperation. Then he seemed to notice Arya and Gendry’s joined hands.

“His sister? Really lad? Do you have some kind of death wish?” Davos’s head looked like it might explode, and it was taking everything Arya had in her not to burst out laughing.

“First of all,  _ I’m _ the only one who’s allowed to kill him,” Arya replied, sliding her arm around Gendry’s waist, leaning into his warmth. In return, he draped his arm around her shoulders, but shot Jon an apologetic look as he did so.

“You can’t just go around  _ kissing _ my  _ little sister _ -“ Jon began, but Arya cut him off.

“ _ I  _ kissed  _ him, _ actually. And considering the fact that I just killed the fucking Night King, I think I can do whatever the  _ fuck _ I want, thank you very much.”

The group around them went silent. Gendry stepped away from Arya, and she let him go, realizing that she probably frightened him now. That he finally knew what she was.

“You did  _ what? _ ” He asked incredulously.

She forced herself to look up at him, and somehow he was staring at her with awe, rather than fear.

“I killed him,” she replied, suddenly quiet. “Stabbed him in the heart with my dagger.”

Gendry’s smile lit up his whole face, and then he grabbed her and lifted her in the air once more, spinning her around. 

“You saved the fucking world! M’lady saved the FUCKING WORLD!”

“Put me down, stupid!” She yelled, but she was laughing. Once she was back on the ground, she leaned her head into his chest, exhausted and elated all at once.

A small crowd began to gather around them, drawn in by Gendry’s words.

“The little bitch did what now?” The Hound had joined the crowd in the courtyard.

“I’ll tell you later, asshole,” Arya retorted. “Thanks for keeping me alive.”

“Had to keep you alive, kid. There’s no one quite as annoying as you.”

The crowd began murmuring, everyone trying to figure out why they’d won, and what to do now.

“ATTENTION!” Jon’s voice boomed through the crowd. “The Night King is dead. The Army of the Dead is no more. I want every able body gathering the wounded and bringing them to the Great Hall! If you can walk, find someone who can’t and carry them back! If you have a head wound, I don’t care if you can walk, see a healer first!” He looked pointedly at Arya when he said this. “You can’t help anyone if you bleed out.” Returning his attention to the crowd, he continued, “Tonight I’ll tell you all why we survived the night. But first, we must gather every survivor. No one should survive this battle only to die alone in the snow.”

The crowd dispersed, everyone following their Lord’s instructions. Jon returned to Arya and Gendry, and clapped his hand on Gendry’s shoulder.

“We still have much to discuss, and we  _ will _ discuss it,” he said, shooting a look at Arya, “but first, I’m trusting you to get her to a healer, Gendry. Don’t let her go out for search and rescue until she’s been seen to.”

“Don’t worry, m’lord, I don’t plan on leaving her side anytime soon.”

Arya snickered at the look Jon gave to that. 

“Yes. Well. I’m-” the King of the North fumbled for words before saying, “I’m going to go find the Queen, then.” And with that, he walked away from the pair.

“So,” Gendry said, turning back to Arya, “that could’ve gone better.”

Arya shrugged. “Could’ve gone worse, too. Besides, I’m pretty sure saying ‘I killed the Night King’ is going to open a lot of doors for me from now on.”

“About that,” Gendry raised an eyebrow at her, “how in seven hells did you manage that?”

“Swift as a deer, quiet as a shadow, quick as a snake, calm as still water, strong as a bear, fierce as a wolverine,” she responded, Syrio’s words coming back to her once more. “He never saw me coming.” She paused, then gestured to her throat. “Well, he did, and he had me in the air, and the knife was still up here,” she unsheathed her dagger and held it above her head in her left hand, just as she had before, “but he forgot something very important.”

Arya smirked, deftly dropping the dagger from her left hand and catching it with her right for the second time that day. “A girl has two hands.”

She paused, expecting him to laugh, but he wasn’t paying attention. His eyes were fixed on her throat, on the red handprint that practically glowed against her pale skin.

“You went in alone.” His voice was low, and even, but there was something beneath it. Anger? She had just saved the fucking world, and he was angry with her?

“Not all battles can be won by charging in with a hammer, you know,” she shot back, turning away from him. “And I’m certain you weren’t hiding from the fight either. Where were you?”

“I was on the front line, but-”

Arya whirled back around! “YOU WERE ON THE FUCKING FRONT LINE?”

“Not the point! I told you I couldn’t lose you again, and you took on the fucking Night King BY YOURSELF!”  _ Ours is the fury indeed, _ part of her thought.  _ Not the fucking time for this,  _ another part of her replied.

“I TOLD  _ YOU _ I COULDN’T LOSE  _ YOU _ AGAIN, AND YOU WERE ON THE FUCKING FRONT LINE!” Her throat was screaming almost as loud as she was, but she didn’t care. “WHY WOULD YOU DO SOMETHING SO GODS-DAMNED STUPID?”

“TO GIVE YOU A BETTER CHANCE!”

They stood there, staring each other down, breathing heavily. Then they reached for each other, and the kiss tasted of anger and relief and blood and sweat.

When they broke apart, Arya whispered to him, “Next time we do something stupid, we do it together.”

Gendry smiled. “Whatever m’lady commands,” he replied, leaning down to kiss her once more.

“What in seven hells,” the Hound spoke from a dozen yards away, causing the pair to spring apart once more, each whirling to face him. Apparently he hadn’t left when Jon ordered everyone to go. “Did I just have to see.”

“I feel I may have missed something,” Sansa’s voice came from the other direction, and the pair spun around again, which wasn’t helping the throbbing in Arya’s head. She could see her sister smiling at her, but Arya did not have the energy or patience for another sibling interrogation.

Grabbing Gendry’s hand, she muttered, “Get me to a fucking maester before anyone else comes by to offer their commentary.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These fuckers can't go two seconds without getting interrupted by one of Arya's relatives, can they?


	3. and remembered our own land

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya finally sees a maester and starts a new list.

Arya sat on a cot in front of Maester Wolkan, with Gendry in a chair next to it, his hand in hers. He’d truly meant what he said about not leaving her side again, apparently. The maester had cleaned and bandaged her face, and it turned out that her wound there was far smaller than anyone had feared. He still had to stitch it, though. Arya was beginning to remember why she’d hated sewing so much as a child. Once the wound was taken care of, Wolkan was far more concerned with the crash against a stone wall that had caused it.

“If she rests, make sure that she’s woken every hour,” he instructed Gendry. “I’ve seen men go to sleep after a blow to the head like that and never wake up.”

“An endless amount of sleep doesn’t sound so bad just now,” Arya rasped. Her shouting match with Gendry had taken what little remained of her voice.

“As for that throat,” Maester Wolkan ignored her comment, but she could swear she saw a hint of a smile on his face. “There might be some swelling, but you should be able to breathe normally. You’ll need to stick to soup for a few days, though, as swallowing normal food might be extremely painful-“

“I can deal with pain-“

“And would slow down the healing process,” he finished, ignoring her. “Mint tea will also be helpful for you, and be sure to find some honey in the kitchens to put in there. It will help prevent infection.”

He peered down at the handprint on her throat, which was now raised and even brighter red, with purple bruising beginning to bloom beneath. It burned like dragon fire and stung like a thousand needles. Despite this, Wolkan had placed a cloth soaked in warm water on her throat. The burning she felt wasn’t heat, but cold. As a child of the North, she knew this, but that didn’t mean she  _ liked _ the way it was treated.

“The skin were he grasped you may begin to blister, or even bleed in the next few days,” Wolkan continued. “If it does, I expect you to come to me so I can clean and bandage it. Do  _ not _ attempt to do it yourself.”

“I can do it just fine-“

“And finally,” the maester cut her off yet again. It was annoying, but it endeared the man to her. “You should avoid speaking for at least a week.”

Arya glared at him and opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off  _ yet again. _

“Your voice lives in your throat, and your throat was damaged in the battle. You must allow it to heal in peace without prodding it with endless words and shouting.” He glanced over to Gendry at that last bit, and Arya rolled her eyes. News travels fast in a castle.

Looking back to Arya, he added, “Still, heroes of any battle are rewarded. Many are expected to speak. This will certainly be true of the Warrior of the Dawn.”

So she had a name now, then. As names go, she didn’t mind it. It was far better than “the Imp” or “the Kingslayer,” at least.

_ Then again,  _ she mused,  _ I am a kingslayer, in my own way. _

Wolkan placed a sheet of parchment, a quill, and an inkwell in her hands, and she held them for almost half a minute before she realized they were there.

“People will offer much to the woman who saved the world,” Maester Wolkan told her. “You should start making a list. Now go to your chambers, they’re still intact, and someone should be drawing a bath for you as we speak.”

Arya held tight to Gendry, unwilling to leave him again. Wolkan saw this and sighed in exasperation.

“The lad will be fine, I’m just going to check him for injuries and send him to get cleaned up, same as you. He’ll be back to you before you know it.” He turned to Gendry. “I shouldn’t be asking the blacksmith this question about a Lady of Winterfell, but I’m assuming you know the way to her chambers.”

“I- um- well-” Gendry stuttered. He actually didn’t know the way to her chambers, they had spent their time together in his quarters in the smithy, but he clearly didn’t want to tell the maester that.

Wolkan shushed his stuttered reply. “Never mind, I’ll draw him a damned map if I have to, now go on your way, Lady Arya Stark of Winterfell, Warrior of the Dawn.”

Arya was beginning to like this maester, she decided.

*******

Two hours later, she was sitting at the desk in her chambers, completely clean, except for the ink all over her hand. Septa Mordane always rapped her knuckles for how awful her handwriting was, but it wasn’t Arya’s fault that her left hand would always drag across her letters as she wrote, smearing the fresh ink, and her writing was even less legible if she used her right. Still, her new list was almost complete by the time she heard a faint knocking at the door.

She cleared her throat to call for them to come in, and then she remembered the maester’s instructions. They were stupid, yes, but he had his chain and her throat did ache, so she decided to just go and open the door instead.

Gendry stood before her, clean as he had been the night before when he’d come to deliver her new weapon, seemingly fine, except for the hint of a bandage on his right forearm that peeked out from his sleeve.

“Took you long enough,” she whispered, throwing her arms around him.

“I thought you were supposed to be quiet for once,” he laughed, returning the hug.

“Whispering doesn’t hurt as much,” she defended, “and the tea’s been helping. The skin there still hurts, though.”

“And how’s that new list of yours going? I swear I know your old one by heart, after hearing you repeat it night after night for years.”

She elbowed him lightly in the ribs, but drew back when he winced. There must be a bruise there she hadn’t seen.

“It’s almost done. You can read it, if you want.”

“Can’t,” he replied sadly. “Never learned to read very well.”

She took a step back to him, and raised herself up onto the tips of her toes to give him a gentle, chaste kiss on his lips.

“We’ll have to fix that, then.”

“I wouldn’t mind that,” he smiled, his hands moving down to rest on her hips. “But I guess I’ll have to hear the new list with everyone else, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was originally going to be the first half of chapter three, but that chapter was getting so long that I decided to just split it in half. Chapter four is almost done though, because apparently writing this fic is just what I do with my life now.  
> Also, yeah, of course all the shouting she did in the last couple chapters came back to bite Arya in the ass. Maester Wolkan is Done With Her Shit. I had the idea of Arya losing her voice for a bit just before she's announced as the Warrior of the Dawn, and then Sansa having to read her speech for her, and hilarious sister shenanigans happening while they're trying to have a Serious Moment.  
> Next chapter will be eulogies for the dead and the reveal of Arya's new list.


	4. what we lived for

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dead are mourned, the Warrior of the Dawn is honored, and Arya shares her new list.

Arya waited outside the doors to the Great Hall, dressed in her best breeches, cloak, and tunic - which was to say, the ones that had needed the least mending before the feast tonight. She clung to Gendry with one hand, and the roll of parchment with her new list on it in the other. Now, they simply had to wait for the doors to open. Something about making a “proper entrance,” Sansa had said, after forcing Arya to swear that she’d tell her everything about Gendry after the feast. Arya had forgotten how annoying she could be.

Her sister stood in front of her now, Tyrion Lannister, of all people, at her side. Apparently he had been ready to fight the wights in the crypt alongside her sister, and die alongside her if he had to. Hearing this caused Arya to decide that she’d at least tolerate the man, Lannister though he may be.

Between Arya and her sister were Varys and Missandei and Grey Worm, advisors and a general for Queen Daenerys, respectively. Arya trusted Varys about as far as she could throw him. She’d grown to distrust whisperers like the Spider, and worried he’d be another Littlefinger.

As for Missandei and Grey Worm, Arya knew neither of them, but Gendry had told her how Grey Worm had held firm against the dead, and how his troops had defended the retreat of the foot soldiers. He was one of the people she had to thank for Gendry being by her side, and for that, she respected him. And when it came to Missandei, Sansa had told her how she’d shielded the children of the crypt with her body as Sansa and Tyrion prepared to battle the wights, and how Missandei had challenged Sansa when she spoke ill of the dragon queen. Arya was almost as skeptical of the foreign queen as her elder sister, hesitant about submitting the North to Southron rule once more, but she also knew that entering a battle of wits with Sansa now was just as dangerous as entering a battle of swords with Arya herself. Anyone who walked into that fight willingly and openly was a warrior in their own way.

At the front of the procession stood her brother, Jon, the King in the North - or was it the Warden of the North, now? She couldn’t remember.

He’d told her he’d ridden one of the queen’s dragons into battle, and when Arya complained that wasn’t fair, he’d replied, “You killed the Night King. I’ve been certain that was my job for years. We’ll just have to call it even.”

By his side was Queen Daenerys of too many fucking titles for Arya to remember, dressed in a crimson gown, her silver hair braided so intricately that Arya just _knew_ Sansa was dying to ask how she did it, but couldn’t do so without letting her carefully crafted mask of power slip away. Apparently braids symbolized victories in battle to the Dothraki horde she led, and if that was the case, the dragon queen must have won quite a few.

Arya hadn’t bothered to speak to this new queen yet. She was still watching her, reading her, deciding whether this new southerner would be another threat to her family. Arya hadn’t decided whether she was, yet, but she could see Jon look at Daenerys the same way Gendry looked at her, and she could see the way that worried Sansa. They had heard that the dragon queen had been widowed once, and her betrothed in Meereen had been murdered. That wasn’t exactly the sort of company they were eager for their brother to keep.

Finally, the doors to the Great Hall opened, and Arya watched as her brother and the queen walked in, and stood behind their seats at the center of the high table. Bran had already been there, his chair parked just left of the center of the table, leaving two seats between him and Jon. Sansa and Tyrion followed, Sansa standing to Bran’s left and Tyrion to the queen’s right. Missandei stood next to Tyrion, and Grey Worm stood on her other side. The two empty chairs were for Arya and Gendry, but they didn’t move forward yet, they simply stood at the back of the hall, holding onto each other while everyone’s eyes were on the high table.

Still standing, Queen Daenerys took a bottle of wine from the table in front of her and filled her cup. Arya wasn’t a proper lady, but she knew enough to see that this wasn’t generally what a queen was supposed to do. Still, no one said anything, and she passed the bottle to Jon, and soon enough, cups all around the room were filled. Once the clatter of movement began to die down, the queen raised a hand and began to speak.

“First, I want to thank you all for your bravery, and for your sacrifice. Because of you, the Night King has fallen. Because of you, the children of Westeros will live to see another summer.” Cheers erupted around the room, and Daenerys smiled sadly before raising her hand once more, and silence returned. “But before we celebrate the Victory of the Dawn, we shall honor those who did not-” the queen’s voice broke, and Arya saw tears in her eyes as Jon took her hand before she continued, “those who died so the sun could rise once more.” With this, the queen turned to Jon, and he nodded before raising his goblet and continuing the speech.

“Tonight we honor those who fell so we could stand here today,” he proclaimed, and Arya realized he didn’t just sound like Father, like the Warden of the North. Jon sounded like a _king._ “Their songs will live past all of us.”

“First, to the Lady Melisandre,” a murmur went through the room, and Arya felt Gendry tense beside her. “She was not a good woman. She did a great many terrible things in her life, in the name of her Red God. But she lit the arakhs of the Dothraki, and she lit the trenches around the castle before the fire within her finally burned her out. Without her flames, many of us would not be among the living now.” Jon wouldn’t be either. She’d been the one who raised him from the dead after the Watch betrayed him. But Arya could see why Jon didn’t want to talk about that now.

Around the room, people shrugged, and a little halfheartedly responded, “To Lady Melisandre…”

“Now, to Qhono of the Dothraki, bloodrider of Queen Daenerys, who helped lead the first charge against the Army of the Dead.”

“To Qhono,” the crowd responded, with about as much enthusiasm as they’d had for Melisandre.

“Next, to Lord Beric Dondarrion,” Jon continued, “whose flaming sword saved many from wights beyond the Wall, who died and was resurrected six times before using his seventh and final death to save my sister Arya and Sandor Clegane from a horde of wights.”

“To Beric Dondarrion,” the crowd replied, more willing to honor a man who’d fallen protecting one of Ned Stark’s daughters. Gendry turned to look at Arya, and she could see the question on his face. She simply nodded in response. There would be time to tell stories later.

“To- to Eddison Tollett, Dolorous Edd, the 999th Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, the Sword in the Darkness, the Shield that guarded the realms of men, who risked his life to warn us of the dead’s coming attack, and who died bravely, saving one of his brothers of the Watch.” Edd had been the one to take over for Jon when he stopped being Lord Commander. They had served together, and she could see how his death weighed on her elder brother. “And now his watch is ended.”

“TO LORD COMMANDER TOLLETT!” the crowd roared for the man who gave them time to prepare for the attack. Well, one of the men who had. But this toast was for the dead, and the other was still among the living.

“To Ser Jorah Mormont of Bear Island, and of the Queensguard, who allowed me to keep Longclaw, his father’s sword, and who fought the dead beyond the Wall, who helped lead the first charge against the dead, who rode into battle with my own direwolf at his side, who survived banishment and slavery and greyscale, who wielded Heartsbane, the sword of House Tarly, with the blessing of that House’s last son, and who died honorably defending his queen.”

“To Ser Jorah of Bear Island!”

“To Theon Greyjoy,” the angry murmur from earlier returned with a vengeance. “The Krakenwolf, who was raised beside me and my siblings. Who was as much Eddard Stark’s son as I am, our brother in all but name. Who made mistakes and betrayed us, yes, but he paid for those dearly. Who survived torture and mutilation at the hands of Ramsay Bolton. Who risked his life to save his sister Yara Greyjoy, the Queen of the Iron Islands, from their treacherous uncle Euron. Who risked his life to save my sister Sansa from the Boltons. Who led the Ironborn in their defense of the godswood, in defense of my brother Bran. Who fought to the last arrow, to the last weapon he could find. Who was the last man standing of those who chose to guard my brother, who was killed by the Night King himself in his final charge, and was impaled on his own broken spear. The child of the sea who died in the only home he’d ever known,” Jon paused, then added the words of the Ironborn. “What is dead may never die.”

“TO THEON GREYJOY, THE KRAKENWOLF!” the Northerners cried. “WHAT IS DEAD MAY NEVER DIE!” They weren’t their words, but they were Theon’s, and now his people cried them for him. Arya felt a tear slide down her face. He’d been her brother too, and now he was gone, another family member to whom she never said goodbye.

“And finally,” Jon continued, once the applause had died down, “To Lady Lyanna Mormont, of Bear Island.” Arya could see him look towards Tormund, whose head hung low and body shook with sobs. He wasn’t the only one. Faces all throughout the crowd fell as those who didn’t know of the little lady’s death realized what had happened, and that House Mormont was no more.

Jon took a deep breath and kept going. “To Lady Lyanna Mormont, daughter of Maege Mormont, the She-Bear, who died with the rest of her daughters at the Red Wedding, fighting beside my brother Robb.” He paused for only a second before adding, “Daughter of Tormund Giantsbane,” the shock that went through the room was audible, but no one seemed angry, and Jon continued as though nothing happened, “who has saved my life more times than I can count, and who is the other man we have to thank for warning us of the dead’s attack. Lyanna Mormont was the first to declare for House Stark, against the Boltons. She sent Cersei Lannister herself a raven saying that House Mormont knew no king but the King in the North, whose name is Stark. She was the first person to declare me King in the North. She became a leader far too young, at only eight years of age, but she wielded that power with honor and grace. She insisted that she would train every man, woman, and child from Bear Island to fight, and that despite her size and gender, she would not let others fight on her behalf. She swore that she would never send a single man from Bear Island into a fight she wouldn’t enter herself. She stood with her men, defending the gate against the dead. In the end, only a giant could bring her down,” he chuckled mournfully.

“She saw death coming for her, and she looked it in the eye and roared like a bear. She was barely five feet tall, and she charged a giant. He lifted her in the air and tried to break her body, but with her last breath she sank a dagger of dragonglass into his eye, because if she had to die, he would have to come with her.”

The room was silent now, every person holding their breath, waiting for Jon to continue.

“To Lady Lyanna Mormont,” he shouted, raising his goblet even higher in the air, “The She-Bear, the Giantslayer, the Smallest Hero!”

“TO LADY LYANNA,” the crowd roared back, “THE SMALLEST HERO!”

All around the room, cups were drained and tears were shed for the last Lady of House Mormont. Some people started to take their seats, but then noticed that everyone at the high table (save for Bran, for obvious reasons) was still standing. The crowd returned to their nervous murmuring.

“And now,” Jon continued, and Arya felt her stomach begin to flip over and over, “we must honor the one who slew the Night King, causing every dead man to fall, every white walker to crumble to ice, and every ice blue eye to close forever.” The whispers grew even more intense, and Arya felt herself begin to shake. She was No One, she was invisible, she was a shadow. She may have killed the Night King, but she didn’t know how to allow herself to be so _seen_.

“Tonight we honor my younger sister, Arya Stark.” Gasps filled the room as Arya and Gendry walked forward through the hall and stopped before the high table, facing Jon and Daenerys. Gendry knelt, and Arya moved to do the same, but Daenerys’s voice stopped her.

“There is no need to kneel, Warrior of the Dawn,” she said calmly. “You saved us all. You bow to no one.”

Arya raised her eyes to meet the dragon queen’s when suddenly, her little brother began to speak, his hollow voice slicing through the whispers.

“After Theon Greyjoy fell, the Night King approached me where I sat beneath the weirwood tree, with all his generals behind him. My sister leapt forward out of the darkness, howling like her wolf Nymeria, and in her hand was the catspaw dagger, the dagger that an assassin was given many years ago to end my life, and which our mother stopped by grasping the blade in her bare hands. It was the dagger that Littlefinger used to begin the conflict between the Starks and the Lannisters, the dagger that started the War of the Five Kings, the dagger that I myself had given to her beneath that same weirwood tree, and that she used to execute Littlefinger for his crimes against our family.

"The Night King turned and caught her by the throat, and held her in the air, the dagger still in her left hand, raised above her head. She looked him in the eye, and dropped the dagger. Just when he believed he’d won, she caught it in her right hand, and stabbed it where his heart once was, and he crumbled to ice along with every other white walker, and every dead man fell where he stood.”

It was a good story, she’d give him that, and it was even all true, but all the eyes on her made Arya’s skin crawl, and she wished she could be back in her chambers with Gendry already.

The crowd roared with approval, though, and began chanting “Warrior of the Dawn,” or calling her name. Arya swore she could almost hear the Hound shout, “You’ve got to be FUCKING KIDDING ME,” but perhaps it was only her imagination. The queen raised her hand to the crowd, and the shouts subsided, though the hall wasn’t exactly silent.

“Lady Arya Stark,” the queen continued, “Every man, woman, and child in Westeros owes you their lives. Nothing can repay that debt. From now until the end of your days, you may ask anything of your queen, and I will do my best to give it to you. What would you ask of me?”

Arya pointed to her throat, and waved her roll of parchment with her new list in the air. Daenerys narrowed her brows in confusion, and Gendry finally rose to his feet to answer the unspoken question.

“Your Grace, Lady Stark’s voice was damaged when the Night King held her by the throat. Maester Wolkan says it will heal in time, but right now she can barely speak above a whisper.” Arya nodded in agreement.

“She sure didn’t have trouble shouting at _you_ earlier,” Arya and Gendry turned to see the Hound laughing at the two of them, and Arya stuck her tongue out at him, and heard giggles erupt through the hall as she did so.

“Yeah, that didn’t exactly help,” Gendry chuckled, and Arya turned to glare at him.

“And who might you be, Ser…?” the queen didn’t seem to be any less confused about what was going on here.

“Not a ser, your Grace, just a smith. My name is Gendry Waters.” His voice shook, and Arya took his hand. She knew why. He was the bastard son of Robert Baratheon, the man who had taken the throne from Daenerys’s father and tried to have her killed. She might not be thrilled to find a relation of his standing before her, and she had two huge dragons that obeyed her every command.

“And how did you come to speak for Lady Arya, Gendry?” If the queen suspected who he was, it didn’t show.

“She and I traveled together as children, fleeing King’s Landing. She was disguised as a boy, but told me who she was after I figured out she was a girl. We protected each other until we were separated.” He paused, unsure whether he should say who had separated them, if that was appropriate after their deaths had just been honored by the whole hall. “After that, I thought she died at the Twins with her mother and brother. I thought that for years. Eventually, Ser Davos found me and brought me with him to Dragonstone, introduced me to King-? Lord-?” he shook his head in frustration. “He introduced me to her brother, Jon. I went with him north of the Wall to capture a wight.”

For the first time, he met the queen’s eyes. “I was the one who sent you the raven when they needed your aid, your Grace.” He turned back to Arya. “It wasn’t until I came to Winterfell, to smith for her brother like she’d asked me to years ago, that I saw her again. I’m not keen on letting her out of my sight anytime soon.” At that, both the queen and Sansa smiled, and Jon rolled his eyes.

“You’re a brave man, Gendry Waters, however humble your beginnings may be.” They weren’t as humble as the queen might think, but she didn’t need to know that. “I look forward to hearing the rest of yours and Lady Arya’s story at a later time. But back to the matter at hand,” Daenerys gestured to the roll of parchment Arya still held tightly, “Who will read what Lady Arya has written for us?”

To save Gendry any potential embarrassment over his level of education - or lack thereof - Arya quickly pointed at her sister, and ran up to Sansa to hand over her list. Sansa unrolled the parchment and tried and failed to fight off a smile.

Leaning forward, she whispered, “Your handwriting is just as bad as when we were children,” in her little sister’s ear.

“I can always go back to flinging soup at you from across the hall,” Arya retorted. The sisters locked eyes and laughed for a moment, remembering the children they had been. Then, Sansa stood up straight, and Arya walked back to stand by Gendry.

“My sister, Lady Arya Stark, has written this,” Sansa began, and Arya could hear their mother in her voice. “As the Warrior of the Dawn and Slayer of the Night King, I would ask these things of Queen Daenerys Targaryen, First of Her Name, Stormborn, Breaker of Chains, Mother of Dragons, blah blah- wait, Arya!” Sansa glared at her sister for insulting the queen, but everyone at the high table was laughing except for Sansa. Well, not Bran, but he never laughed anymore. And Grey Worm, the queen’s general, never laughed or smiled, not that Arya knew of. Still, she was proud of her little joke.

“It’s fine, continue,” the queen laughed, “I grow bored of listing out my own titles, I can imagine writing them all out after a night of swordplay would be tedious, if not outright painful.”

“Thank you, your Grace,” Sansa replied, “Though I still must apologize for my little sister. Then again, she’s been this way since we were children, so I can’t expect she’ll ever truly change.” Sansa was smiling now too. That was why Arya had written that, to give them all a reason to smile after a night of so much death. Well, that, and all the titles _were_ a pain in the ass to write out.

“I would ask that the queen create a council of men and women from each of the Seven Kingdoms, chosen by the leaders of each kingdom, so that no part of the realm is subject to a ruler who cannot hear their concerns.” The queen nodded stoically, and Tyrion Lannister _winked_ at Arya. Apparently the Hand of the Queen liked her idea.

“I would ask that the queen change the laws of Westeros so that no woman in the realm can ever be forced into a marriage she does not consent to,” a tear came to Sansa’s eye as she read the first item on the list. Arya had written it for her. “I would ask that women be given the power to choose their own husbands that we have long been denied.

“I would ask that the queen make women equal to men in matters of inheritance, so that lands pass from eldest to eldest, rather than father to son, and that when a woman who holds her own lands chooses to marry, she may keep her name, if she wishes.” Murmurs swept through the hall, and Arya could feel some of the lords glaring at her, but she didn’t give two shits.

“I would ask that women be allowed to train as knights and soldiers and even maesters, if they so choose. I would ask that a woman’s worth be judged by the strength of her heart and the sweat of her brow, not by how many sons she can bear.” Sansa kept going, ignoring the crowd.

“I would ask to be permitted to train any young girl who wishes to fight, and to create a force of women fighters to defend the weak from injustice throughout Westeros, to protect every man, woman, and child in the realm, highborn or low. My father-” Sansa stopped, looking at Arya with confusion, and Arya nodded for her sister to keep going. “My father once told me a story of a tourney that happened at Harrenhal when he was young, long before I was born. He said that a knight with a laughing weirwood on his shield rode in the joust, and defeated three men whose squires had attacked one of our bannermen, Howland Reed.” Arya saw a flicker of sadness cross Bran’s face. Maybe her little brother really was still in there.

“The knight told the men to teach their squires honor, and he disappeared. Your father, King Aerys, believed the mystery knight to be an assassin and ordered that he be found, but the only trace of him was the shield that your brother Rhaegar brought back after the search.” Daenerys and Jon’s faces both paled at the mention of Rhaegar, but Sansa couldn’t see, and kept reading.

“My father insisted that no one ever knew who the mystery knight was, but he told me that story just after he told me how much I reminded him of my Aunt Lyanna, who was crowned the Queen of Love and Beauty by Prince Rhaegar at that very tourney.” Now Jon and the queen were the same color as the snow outside. Arya had some questions to ask her brother after the feast.

Sansa kept reading. “In honor of the fallen Lady Lyanna Mormont, and my late aunt Lady Lyanna Stark, I would call my group of female fighters the Bears of the Laughing Tree.”

The remaining men of Bear Island began applauding, and Tormund Giantsbane ran up to Arya to envelop her in a bear hug. It was a nice gesture, but she barely knew the man, and judging by his smell, he was one of the few who hadn’t bathed after the battle. Eventually, Gendry managed to pry Tormund off of her and return him to his seat. Once the chaos died down, Sansa continued, close to the end of Arya’s new list.

“I would ask the queen for three more things,” Sansa read. “I would ask for my own castle, once the wars are over, and to be allowed to choose my own husband, and establish our own house, choosing our own name, if we see fit.” Sansa smirked at Arya, and glanced over at Gendry.

“I would ask for a dream I have held close since I was a child to come true, and that I might become a Knight of the Seven Kingdoms.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Brienne of Tarth stand up a little straighter, smiling her way.

“And finally, I would ask to be the one to kill Cersei Lannister.” A hush fell over the room, and Ser Jaime stiffened in his place at Brienne’s side. The silence that took hold seemed to last for years.

Finally, the queen broke it. “Lady Arya, it seems we have many of the same ideas. I have been sold and traded and mistreated by men since I was younger than you are now. No woman in Westeros should have to live through what I have-” the queen looked over at Sansa, “what many of us have. It is long overdue for women to be equal to men under the laws of Westeros.”

A cheer rang through the hall, mostly from the women, but Arya could see some men smiling too.

“I would also feel honored to aid you in establishing the Bears of the Laughing Tree however I can, in memory of your aunt and your bannerwoman. The one issue I foresee,” she stated, “is the last item on your list. The False Queen has harmed many people,” she glanced at her Hand as she said this, “and we are still deciding how best to defeat her. The best I can promise is this: If an execution is possible, I shall pass the sentence, and you shall be my sword, as you were for your sister. Will that suffice?”

Arya shrugged, and rasped, “Works for me,” while Gendry glared at her for speaking again.

“Now what am I forgetting… ah yes, the matter of knighthood.”

“Your Grace,” Brienne of Tarth interjected, walking to Arya’s side. “In honor of the oath I made to Lady Catelyn Stark to protect her daughters, and as the first woman knight of the Seven Kingdoms-”

The queen’s eyes narrowed in confusion, and Tyrion told her, “She was knighted just before the battle. Forgive me if I forgot to tell you, there were a lot of things happening.”

“As I was saying,” Lady Brienne- no, _Ser Brienne_ continued, “As the first female knight of the Seven Kingdoms, it would be my honor to make Lady Arya the second.”

“I can think of no one better for the job, Ser Brienne,” the queen smiled.

Ser Brienne unsheathed her sword, and held it out to Arya so she could inspect it.

“Two swords were made from the steel of Ice, the ancestral blade of House Stark,” she explained, “This is one of them. It’s named Oathkeeper, given to me so I could keep the oath I made to your mother, that I would protect her children.”

Brienne took a step back, and nodded to Arya, letting her know they were about to begin. “Kneel, Arya Stark,” she said, and so Arya knelt. She lowered her head and her eyes drifted shut, and the knighting ceremony began.

“In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent. Arise, Ser Arya Stark, a knight of the Seven Kingdoms.”

The crowd took up the call as Arya rose, smiling, as Winterfell filled with the sound people cheering, “Ser Arya Stark, a knight of the Seven Kingdoms!” Arya looked up at Brienne, who was beaming down at her.

The elder knight gently placed a hand on Arya’s shoulder and said quietly, “Your mother would be so proud of you,” and the only two female knights in Westeros began to smile and weep.

A small cough was heard from where Ser Brienne had been standing, and Tyrion called out, “Don’t worry Pod, it’ll be your turn soon enough!”

Arya and Brienne turned to see Brienne’s squire, whose face was quickly turning the same color as the leaves of a weirwood tree.

“I’ll knight you tomorrow, Podrick,” Brienne laughed, “I think there’s been enough excitement already for one night.”

Ser Brienne walked back to her squire, and Arya and Gendry walked up to the high table and stood behind their respective chairs.

“It truly has been an eventful day,” the queen agreed. “Now let’s have our supper before we’re all asleep on our feet.” She sat down, and the entire hall followed suit, and dinner began to be served.

From across the hall, Arya heard the Hound bark, “Fucking finally!” as his plate was filled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That... that was even longer than I thought it would be. The Hound's reaction at the end there is pretty much what my body is screaming at me for not having eaten yet even though it's almost 4pm. Whoops.  
> Anyways, told you there'd be some sister silliness in this one. I will be writing more, I promise, but I might slow down just a tad so I don't keep doing things like forgetting to eat... or sleep...  
> Thanks for all the kind comments, you guys!


	5. and now I cling to what I knew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dancing and Discussions.

It was a good feast, as far as Arya was concerned. There was plenty of food and drink, and at some point a bard began to play, and people began to dance. Arya could see Ser Davos holding the hands of a young girl with a scarred face, swaying back and forth while she stood on his feet. Jon’s friend Samwell Tarly awkwardly spun around with a lithe young woman - a wildling named Gilly, Jon told her - while a babe ran around their feet, smiling and laughing. In a far corner, Arya saw a very drunk Tormund Giantsbane leaning his head on the Hound’s shoulder and sobbing, while an annoyed and confused Clegane awkwardly patted the man on the back.

Gendry leaned over to Arya, so close that his lips brushed her ear, sending a shiver down her spine, and whispered, “Would m’lady like to dance?”

Arya shook her head, and turned so only Gendry could hear her response. “I’d only step on your toes on a good day,” she breathed, “And right now it hurts to move.” She punctuated her words with a kiss on Gendry’s cheek, hoping that Jon wasn’t paying attention.

“You know I can see you, right?” It wasn’t Jon speaking, but Bran, who’d been sitting silently on Gendry’s other side ever since he finished the story of the defeat of the Night King.

“I mean, I see everything now, but I’m literally sitting right next to you two.” Arya blushed and leaned around Gendry to see Bran smirking at her.

“Is this my brother being a little shit, or the Three-Eyed Raven?” she asked, her eyes narrowing. “Because the Three-Eyed Raven can fuck off, or my little brother can owe me a drink.”

The young man across from her grabbed a flagon of wine and refilled Arya’s cup, a smile on his face and a familiar light in his grey eyes, and Arya was once more filled with hope.

“Excuse- excuse me, Ser Arya?” she turned to see Ser Brienne’s squire, Podrick, standing before her. “I wanted to thank you for what you did- did- did last night, or rather this mor-morning.” The young man stammered, but stood straight and tall before her. “And for- for your patience when sparring with me. From- from what I’ve heard, I’ve been a squire longer than- than you’ve been holding a sword, but- but I wouldn’t dream of being knighted before you. You- you’ve earned it more than anyone, and I’ll be honored to fight be- beside you in the war- the wars to come.”

It was the most Arya had ever heard the man speak since she’d returned to Winterfell, and the sincerity behind his halting words started to bring tears to her eyes. Before she could respond, though, the Hand of the Queen called to him.

“You should be drinking and dancing, Pod,” Tyrion laughed. “Find a pretty maid and ask her to dance, while I spread the word of your  _ exploits _ in King’s Landing to aid your chances, and tell her how tomorrow you’ll be Ser Podrick Payne, for good measure.”

Arya’s blood turned to ice in her veins as she stared at the man before her. How could she not have known this man’s surname the whole time they’d lived in the same castle? How could she not have known that he shared his name with the man who’d killed her father?

Podrick must have noticed the steel entering her grey eyes, and hung his head.

“I- I know what- what my cousin did, the pain he has brought to your- your family, Ser Arya,” he said in a low voice, and Arya’s anger broke. She couldn’t see any trace of Ser Ilyn Payne in Podrick’s soft features. “I- I hope you can- can forgive-”

“There is nothing to forgive, Podrick,” Arya rasped, her throat burning. “You are not your cousin. You protected my sister when she had no one, you fought valiantly in the battle against the dead. You’re even a somewhat decent sparring partner, when you stop thinking so damn much.”

The two young warriors locked eyes and shared a smile.

“Thank- thank you, Ser Arya. I’ll try to give you a better fight in- in our next bout.” The young man stood up a little straighter, and his eyes moved down the table, over to…

“Lady- Lady Sansa,” he called, and Arya saw warmth in her sister’s eyes as she looked at him. “Would- would you do me the honor of dancing with me?”

“The honor would be mine,” Sansa smiled. “Though I do wish you’d simply call me ‘Sansa,’ Podrick. We’ve known each other long enough, and you’ve more than earned it.”

“As you wish, my la- Sansa.” The squire’s smile seemed to glow in the candlelight, and Arya could see the same light in her sister’s eyes as she took his arm.

_ Perhaps my sister will get her knight after all,  _ Arya thought,  _ like in all the songs she loved so much. _

Jon and the queen followed Sansa and her squire onto the dance floor, and Arya had never seen a pair dance more stiffly. She let her head fall against Gendry’s shoulder, and allowed herself a moment to enjoy how warm and sturdy and  _ there _ and  _ alive _ he was, and turned from her brother and his dragon to watch her sister dance.

Soon enough, though, Ser Brienne moved from her place beside the Kingslayer and stood in the spot her squire had just vacated.

“I wanted to thank you again for this morning’s victory,  _ Ser _ Arya,” Brienne told her, “and to remind your young man that I am honorbound to protect Lady Catelyn’s daughters. I know the Warrior of the Dawn can handle herself, but…” the lady knight’s fingers drummed against the pommel of Oathkeeper. “I am always willing to assist her.” Ser Brienne winked at Arya and turned to walk away, and then paused, seemed to changed her mind, and turned back to the high table, leaning in towards the pair.

“I was kingsguard to your uncle, you know,” she whispered to Gendry, and he and Arya froze. “You’re his spitting image, and I’m told that he was the spitting image of your father, when he was young. I wasn’t sure until you said Ser Davos brought you here, and knowing that he served your other uncle, well…” Brienne paused, taking in the looks on both of their faces.

“No one will hear a word of this from me,” she reassured them, “but I am not the only one here who knows the Baratheon look. Few here knew Renly, but more knew Robert,” her eyes darted between the Lannister brothers as she said this. “You were safer before, when no one saw you, but now that you sit beside the Warrior of the Dawn, who apparently looks to be Lyanna Stark reborn, and tales spread of how you used a warhammer to fight the dead beyond the Wall…” she shook her head. “I cannot say I will be the only one to figure it out, and if the queen finds out on her own, it may turn out… poorly, for the both of you. I say this not to frighten you, Ser Arya, but to keep my oath to your mother.”

“Thank you, Ser Brienne,” Arya whispered. Gendry could only mutely nod beside her.

Her fellow knight began to lean away, and then froze, her eyes locked on Bran as she only now remembered that he was there, and had probably heard all she’d said.

“It’s nothing I didn’t already know,” Bran sighed, waving a hand dismissively. “I know quite a lot now, and if I told all of it to everyone, this hall would either be much louder or much quieter. You have nothing to fear from me, Ser Brienne.”

The lady knight nodded at each Stark sibling and playfully narrowed her eyes at Gendry before walking away.

******

As the feast died down and the survivors began making their way to their beds or simply nodded off at their tables, Arya felt more than ready to do the same. She hadn’t been able to sleep before the battle, and once she had finished her list and tried to get some rest, Gendry had woken her every hour, just as Maester Wolkan had instructed. Arya was beginning to hate that man, but Gendry refused to ignore his instructions, the stupid bull.

She readied herself to leave the hall when Queen Daenerys rose from her seat and everyone at the high table followed, but Jon’s hand grasped her arm as she tried to slip off to her chambers.

“Not just yet, little sister,” he warned, “I still have some questions for you and our smith.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in order:  
> 1\. Shireen 2.0 LIVES because they never showed her die, and I want Ser Davos to be happy, dammit!  
> 2\. I don't actually think Sam is in good enough shape after the battle to dance, but he deserved something nice after watching Edd die right in front of him.  
> 3\. Poor Sandor has no idea what the fuck to do with Tormund, but he's tolerating this because they are both Murder Dads and they've got to stick together  
> 4\. I also want to believe that now that the Night King is gone, Bran will start to grow back his personality, and considering the shit he pulled with Jaime while still in Three-Eyed Raven mode... that personality is 100% "Little Shit"  
> 5\. If they haven't shown Arya react to Pod being related to one of the first names on her list, she doesn't know yet, in my opinion, and that reaction is IMPORTANT. Not judging him by the sins of his (distant) cousin is a big growth moment for her.  
> 6\. I fully don't expect it to happen, but I lowkey ship Sansa and Podrick. He's genuinely sweet and he sings really well and I just want my girl HAPPY, OKAY?  
> 7\. It's confirmed in the books that when Brienne first saw Gendry, she could've sworn she was seeing Renly, back from the dead. Seeing him beside Arya... someone's got to put two and two together eventually.  
> 8\. Bran @ everyone: GUYS I'M RIGHT THE FUCK HERE. I THOUGHT I WAS ONLY INVISIBLE WHEN I VISITED THE PAST, GEEZ.  
> 9\. Whoops, Gendry's got some 'splainin' to do, especially since Arya still can't talk.


End file.
